


Contingencies for the Unforseeable

by yourguardianangel



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Angst, Attack on Titan AU, Bickering, Canon Typical Violence, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension, unresolved scientific tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5712577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourguardianangel/pseuds/yourguardianangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Doctor Newton Geiszler; wearer of glasses, serial defacer of both his uniform and his own skin, terrorizer of new recruits, and ten year member of the two-man Survey Corps Science Division, was having a rather trying day. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p>An Attack on Titan! AU to plug a hole in this otherwise watertight fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contingencies for the Unforseeable

**Author's Note:**

> Just to preface; this universe is basically the same as Attack on Titan / Shingeki No Kyojin, except with the Attack on Titan principle characters removed and their places filled by the Pacific Rim characters that best fit the archetypical roles within the universe itself. The colossal and armoured titan are still plot points but aren't featured heavily (except in stylized renditions on Newton's arms), and the fall of Wall Maria still occurred. This story picks up after the fall, roughly around the same time that the Trost arc begins.

Doctor Newton Geiszler; wearer of glasses, serial defacer of both his uniform and his own skin, terrorizer of new recruits, and ten year member of the two-man Survey Corps Science Division, is having a rather trying day.

For starters, he had been accosted not once, but twice by both superior and inferior officers looking for answers that he didn’t have, either because they were asking the wrong bloody scientist of the two they had on official payroll, or because he did not have the inclination to answer them before he had even consumed his first meal of the day.  
By the time he had escaped from their parasitic clutches and made his way to the mess hall, there was nothing but a single, congealing mouthful of porridge-like substance left, and as he was already late for a morning briefing with the Commander, he had to grab-and-go whilst weaving his way across the chaotic central courtyard of their headquarters. As far as he was aware, there was nothing particularly important about today, and yet the courtyard seemed unusually busy. Squads of soldiers milled about, finding groups and administering orders, all in shades of flapping green cloaks. The wings of freedom, emblazoned across the back of each soldier’s uniform, were one of the few features that Newt himself actually liked.

He barely avoided a 3D maneuvering sheath to the leg several times as he crossed the crowded area, cursing a little bit under his breath but not slowing down as he hurried. Stupid soldiers, with their swords, and their frequent up-close experiences with the Kyojin. Or Kaiju. Or Titans. They’d gone by a few names in the hundred years since they’d appeared, but what would these muscle head, good-for-nothing, thrillseekers know about that?

He wasn’t jealous.

Not even a little.

(Maybe a little.)

The briefing was inside the central building, one of the taller and grander looking buildings within the city of Trost. He skittered through the main doorway, relieved to have finally extricated himself from the hubbub of the morning, only to discover that he had managed to step in horse manure on the way there.

“Oh, for _crying out loud,_ ” he whined, attempting to scrape off as much of it as he could as quickly as he could. Of course it would happen this morning, with all those people and resources moving about outside. Newt grumbled internally and externally about livestock, lamenting that there weren’t the resources available for them to have a few more machines and a few less animals at their disposal.

 _Maybe I could convince Pentecost to let me use some of the scrappier resources for prototypes,_ he thought. _Better yet, maybe I could convince Gottlieb to do it for me._

He scrambled into the room with as much grace as he could muster. He was late, he knew he was late, but perhaps the commander wouldn’t notice- 

“How nice of you to finally join us, Doctor,” Commander Pentecost said, eyebrow raised and expression carefully impassive. There were several others gathered around the table, their numbers mostly comprised of the more experienced squadron leaders and a strategist or two.

That was weird.

What wasn’t weird was that several of them were watching him, their faces ranging from mild amusement to vaguely irritated but otherwise apathetic.

Except for that of Newt’s colleague.

The man, the legend, the bane of his personal existence.

Just get a load of that jerk.

Tch.

“Please take a seat, Doctor Geiszler, we have wasted enough time already,” the commander’s voice cut through Newt’s train of thought, and he hurried, albeit begrudgingly, to take the last seat available around the wooden table next to his sole scientific colleague.

There was something off about this whole situation. Newt could feel it in the itch of his tattoos, all up and down his arms in the phantom press of each needlepoint. He’d done them himself, you know, as he was fond of telling people when they asked (or abused) him about them. He’d carefully and lovingly constructed each likeness of the abnormal titans lining his arms from as many eyewitness accounts as he possibly could, and Newt’s fuddy-duddy colleague had been furious at him for weeks for reappropriating the man’s expensive indian ink bottle for his own personal needs.

That colleague in question was at present sitting upright and proper in his seat, his gaze sliding across everyone at the table except for Newton with a knowing sort of gleam. Newton did his best not to be thrown off completely by the smug asshole’s careful preening, his notes spread out neatly and at right angles to each other upon the table. His uniform was meticulously worn as per usual, not a single thread out of place, and Newt was struck, not for the first time, with the urge to just _crinkle the dude’s sleeve_ , you know, just a little bit, just to see what he’d do.

 _Probably hit me with his cane, the asshole,_ he reasoned with himself as the Commander continued to talk about…. Well, he continued to talk. Newton hadn’t really been paying attention, too busy ruminating upon exactly how _strange_ and _probably not good_ it was to be actually listening to the briefing. In fact, he was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, which was attracting the glare of his colleague.

“What?” he mouthed silently at the scientist, garnering him a bug-eyed look of reproach. He felt a pang of satisfaction at that. Maybe the day was finally turning in Newton’s favor.

“And so, as many of you are already aware, today marks the beginning of our first official reconnaissance mission into enemy territory, and will be the first in a series of coordinated missions with the ultimate goal of retaking wall Maria.” Newton’s attention snapped suddenly, and whip-like, onto Pentecost’s words. Missions outside of the wall? A chance to collect some decent data on the Titans? He could feel his heart rate rising, waking up in excitement, and he sat up a little straighter in his chair, eager to retain all the information being given. _God, finally, an opportunity,_ he hardly even dared to think to himself. Why else would his presence have been expressly requested for this briefing?

“Our primary goal is to gather information about the outside, to help with more effective coordination and tactics for establishing outposts and supply trains in later missions and ensure greater preservation of civilian and military life. It is for this reason, amongst others, that I have chosen Doctor Gottlieb as our esteemed scientific and tactical representative outside of the wall-”

Oh. _Oh._

 _Oh, you have got to be kidding me._ Newton thought to himself.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Newton’s mouth said aloud before he could even begin to think better of it. The eyes of everyone at the table turned to look at him in shock and horror, including those of his _esteemed_ colleague. Newt wasn’t sure whether anyone had interrupted Commander Pentecost ever, in his decades long career. The Commander’s expression was as dumbfounded as it would ever get on the stony-faced man.

 _“ Doctor Geiszler,_ his smug colleague began, a dangerous look in his eyes, “this is hardly the time to-”.

“Gentlemen,” the Commander said quietly, but Newt’s wheels were already turning.

“Oh _yes it is,_ Hermann,” voice beginning to rise over the top of the other man, “you _know_ how much my research would benefit from this-“

“For _God’s sake, do not address me on a first name basis-”_

 _“Gentlemen,”_ Pentecost interjected again, just as Newt could feel himself growing hysterical and rising from his chair. He slumped back, trying and miserably failing to keep in check the absolute tumult of thoughts and emotions ricocheting inside his chest. Amidst the cloying shades of anger and helplessness, the words _this is not fair_ resonated deafeningly throughout his head, and Newton clutched at the arms of his chair to disguise his shaking hands. He wondered whether anyone would notice that he was holding his breath, or if the rushing noise in his ears was just his own blood. Doctor Hermann Gottlieb exhaled heavily, but otherwise remained (thankfully) silent.

“Doctor Geiszler,” Pentecost began again, after surveying them both with heavy eyes, “my word is final. Should our mission prove successful, there may be opportunity for you to join us in the field for your studies. Until then,” Pentecost paused, leveling him with a firm, if sympathetic look, “you are to remain here and undergo your usual duties.”

Newton wasn’t sure if he was on the verge of yelling angrily again or bursting into tears, so he did not say anything and did not look at the commander.

“Doctor Geiszler, have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, the words like rotting cauliflower in his mouth. He half expected the Commander to call him on his tone, but Pentecost simply nodded, and continued with the briefing. Newt fumed in silence, lip twitching with the restraint of all the violent and embarrassingly emotional actions he was tempted to pursue.

Newt made sure he was the first out of the door when they were dismissed.

The courtyard had emptied significantly, and Newton was thankful for that, if nothing else. The crowds of the morning suddenly made far more sense. He took a deep breath, sucking in the heavy summer smell of pollen and horse manure, and attempted to curb all of the homicidal thoughts bouncing around inside his furious head.

His moment of relative serenity was ruined all too soon by the hurried tapping of a cane upon the cobblestones. The urge to growl out loud was really all too disconcertingly tempting to him, and rather pettily, he tried to speed up and outpace his colleague. Perhaps he could even beat him back to their shared lab space, lock himself in (and the _Esteemed Doctor Gottlieb_ out, ha) and wallow in rubbing alcohol, stoic manly tears, and fromaldehyde for a little while in peace.

His attempt was useless, however. Hermann Gottlieb, despite his reliance upon a cane, had all of the intensity and speed of a goddamn greyhound when he seemed to feel like it.

“If it makes you feel any better-”

“You know, there really aren’t that many things you could say to me right now to make me _actually_ feel better-”

“For God’s sake would you _just listen_ for a moment-” Newt wheeled on Hermann and the man almost plowed straight into him. Even whilst favoring one side of his body, he stood taller than Newt, and that small fact never failed to fuel whatever small or large vendetta he currently carried against his laboratory partner.

“No, Hermann, I will _not_ listen to you for a moment!” Newt hissed at him, voice both hoarse and shrill to his own ears. A few stray soldiers passing gave them a quizzical look.

“You know how important it is to me to go outside! You know how much my research relies upon it! You’ve known for _ten years!_ I’ve done all that I could with sloppy seconds and trauma-fueled accounts; I’ve made do for all this time, even after the fall of Maria, waiting for an opportunity like this! And now, _now_ , they’ve chosen _you_!”

Newt’s hands had found their way into the space around as he ranted, but the further into it he ploughed, the more he found his desire to shout waning, and the collapsing weight of the situation drawing the harsh ache of tears up his throat and into his eyes. Throughout it all, Hermann stood pale and resolute, never giving him so much as an inch of a reaction.

“I am sure they have their reasons,” Hermann said finally, words stiff and awkward between his lips. “As it stands, I trust that Commander Pentecost has considered this thoroughly before making a decision, something that _you yourself_ have barely had time to do before barreling headlong into your toddler tantrum about why this entire conundrum is ‘not fair’.” 

Newt gaped for a moment, unable to even formulate a reply, then laughed bitterly. He ran a hand through his hair, the other hand clenching and unclenching into a shaking fist at his side, for lack of anything better to do (that wouldn’t result in someone with a bleeding or broken nose).

“That was pretty weak, Herm,” he said, shaking his head and turning once again towards their small, dingy, and quite frankly ramshackle laboratory facilities.

They had been shacked up together (ha, not by choice, that was for sure,) for nearly three years, in what was essentially one half of a barn, and almost certainly the least desirable building in the Survey Corps’ headquarters. Over time (and significant exposure to all manner of accelerated putrefaction and the decomposition of fascinating gigantic tissue mass) the place had come to resemble a strange, comforting and vaguely biohazardous sort of home.

For Newton, at least. He couldn’t vouch for whatever went through the smug, calculating head of his colleague.

He had almost reached the entrance of the lab, back hunched and arms crossed over his chest like a teenager, when Hermann spoke again.  
“You heard the Commander. A ‘no’ now is not a ‘no’ for the entire campaign. You must have patience, you foolish man.”

Newton scoffed.

“Yeah, right, patience will _definitely_ help me,” he replied, and as he opened the door, he noticed that Hermann had stopped a few paces away from him. He had one eyebrow raised, and the Expression of Extreme Unamusement was back once again.

“Well if patience is not helpful, then arguing with the Commander over a _direct order_ is downright stupidity for your cause,” Hermann said, and his jaw tensed around his words as condescension etched itself into every line of his face. Newt didn’t want to see the logic in his colleague’s words, pushing on regardless.

“ I don’t really see any alternative, Hermann! All _patience_ has got me so far is- is my life’s work being pushed to the wayside in favor of someone-”

“ _-Someone,_ ” Hermann groused, “who has a greater capacity for survival in adverse and dangerous situations.” He breezed past Newton in the doorway as though he were a concierge and not a longstanding intellectual and verbal opponent. Newt made a choking noise of indignation at Hermann’s words.

“You haven’t operated in the field for years! Can you even _use_ the gear still after-”

“I most _certainly can_ and in any case it is _none of your concern,_ ” Hermann spat from his side of the lab, all trace of smugness disappearing entirely. He turned sharply on his heel, the muscles in his back taut with anger, and it was clear to Newt that the conversation was over. Newt exhaled harshly through his teeth but for once actually took a hint, instead throwing all of his energy into tossing himself into his desk chair, and ignoring Hermann to the best of his limited ability. It was difficult, alright? Years and years of careful insult-volleying across the chalk line drawn down the middle of the lab floor had led to the development of an innate Hermann Sensor.

The other scientist was removing small mechanical objects and meticulously piled stacks of parchment from the top of a crate, one of many identical ones kept in perfect order on Hermann’s side of the room, and Newt knew exactly what was inside it. He saw Hermann grimace on the other side of the room as he lifted the heavy lid, slightly rusted from disuse, and looked away as Hermann lifted his old 3D Maneuvering Gear. Newt focused on a sample analysis report he had written late in an evening last week, instead of upon Hermann’s semi-reverent hands as a series of metallic buckling sounds came from the other side of the room. Looking down upon his own chaotic, frenzied scrawl of notations and half-finished questions upon the parchment, the true weight of Newt’s loss pressed down upon him. The implications of his work, if even _one_ of his questions had an answer, would be absolutely revolutionary for their missions. Hell, for _humanity itself_. But no.

His bitter musings were cut short as Hermann stopped in front of his desk. 

“Commander Pentecost is making the right choice, even if you are unable to see it,” Hermann said, his posture stiff with the extra weight of his equipment. “There are just… Too many uncertainties in your work, Newton.”

“Whatever,” Newt muttered, but his voice only sounded tired to his own ears. “Go and play the goddamn hero, Hermann. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

 _If you come back,_ a horrid little voice inside Newt’s head contributed, and when he finally looked up to apologize for his words, Hermann was already gone, and he was very much alone.

…

Doctor Hermann Gottlieb, stickler for rules, master tactician and theoretical mathematician, and the Better and More Responsible Half of the Survey Corps Science Division, was not particularly enjoying his current predicament. To be sure, he hadn’t enjoyed any of his earlier predicaments that morning, from having to _console_ his _insufferable_ lab partner over missing out on the opportunity to be _almost certainly eaten alive_ , to sitting uncomfortably upon a horse, bad leg cramping painfully with every jolt, as civilians stared at him and murmured of his exploits to one another. More than 80% of the Survey Corps’ numbers had marched through Trost and out into the wilderness beyond, a thick green band striking out into their lost territory like a sword, and yet Hermann had felt every eye upon him and heard every whisper of his name like fingernails across his back.

However, he would have gladly suffered another decade of Doctor Geiszler’s most irrelevent ramblings, or marched through that crowd alone, to have avoided staring up at no less than three Kaiju- _Titans,_ he corrected himself, _bloody Newton and his silly fascinations-_ with only one blade left to share between them.

He had carved a path of carnage easily enough up until this point; old muscle memory had always been a highly accessible thing for Hermann, and the muscle memory in this particular field of expertise was plentiful. There was reason, after all, for the crowd to have known his name.

No, it was the newer muscle memories, the insistent throbbing of his bad leg after a heavier landing or two, which were a little more difficult to manage.

Placing weight upon his good leg, Hermann firmly pressed down the impulse to panic with all the patience of an old friend, looking between the three empty-eyed creatures as they lumbered forward. This was old news, he reminded himself. This was a simple application of physics and pressure for a result, nothing more, nothing less. He took a second to quickly run through the various potential maneuvers that would best result in his survival and the maximum efficiency in the dispatching of-

 _“Быть осторожен,_ Doctor!”

The whirring of metallic cables was punctuated with a green and silver blur, arcing gracefully from one titan to another. A heavy, hot spray of blood hit Hermann’s shoulder with all of the force of a tug-of-war rope, and he did his best to hide the sway it caused to his balance, turning his face up in indignation to the newcomer. The titans’ bodies collapsed in on themselves in steaming heaps, the ground shaking as their misshapen bodies met the ground.

With a complex and showy flip, the soldier landed solidly in front of Hermann, her powerful build equally as powerful as whatever product she used to keep her platinum blonde hair perfectly in place during such acrobatic engagements. As it was, she gave her head a swift flick to remove a phantom hair from her eyes, and with a click, her ruined blades clattered to the ground in the space between them. Hermann’s pout melted away in her presence.

God, Hermann had missed her. 

“Good to see you on your feet once again, Doctor,” she called, stepping closer in powerful and certain strides.

“And the same to you, Sasha,” Hermann returned, tilting his head slightly in respect. There was a faint, sad quirk at the side of her mouth as they both paused a beat, for that was all they could allow for the dead in a time such as this. He ignored the feeling of his throat tightening, swallowing against it.

_The past is the past._

“I had that under control, you know,” Hermann offered, far more gently than he had meant to. Her eyes crinkled in the corners and she pressed her empty sword-hilts into a new pair of blades.

“I know,” she replied, “I could see you planning. I was in a better position though. It was more effective.” Her thick accent lilted as she regarded the legion’s progress across the landscape.  
“You are not as rusty as I thought you would be,” a smile ticking up at the corner of her mouth. The side of his mouth ticked up in amusement. He had forgotten how easy it had always felt to be around her, around both of the Kaidanovskys.

“I may still be sharp enough, but my blades most certainly weren’t,” he confided, holding up the dull weapon in his hand.

“They’re more brittle than I remember them being, to be frank,” he turned the blade in the sunlight to show off its shine, despite the years confined in a box. A box in a lab, which was smelly and dirty despite his best efforts, and yet decidedly his. An odd stroke of wistfulness washed over him like a summer breeze, but Sasha’s low, booming laughter, so much like that of her husband’s, brought him back.

“The current blade temper is far better than what we used the last time you lifted a sword, Doctor,” she grinned, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “Come, we shall get you resupplied. The train is not far from here, I saw it from above.” She led him along, a strong hand both guiding and subtly taking the weight off his bad leg. He was incredibly grateful for this, as the use of the machinery and the return of old habits was already taking its toll upon him, his body already bruising beneath his clothes, and aching in the muscles and bones that lay even deeper than that.

They picked their way across the uneven terrain towards their destination in silence, following a trail of smoking, gargantuan corpses, dark columns of their evaporating flesh rising like macabre signal flares into the sky. Their path was littered with smaller corpses, and without the aid of conversation, the broken forms brought forth unwelcome memories of years earlier. Hermann pushed back at the visceral flashes internally; now was not the time to dwell upon the past. Too many people had lost their lives to these things, and too many still could. He only possessed the power to influence one of those statistics, and by Jove, he would do so in whatever way the commander saw best.

Hermann wasn’t out there for himself. He had done his best to make that clear to Newton in his moments before departure, but who could honestly tell what was going through that outrageous and volatile man’s head? He simply hoped his colleague would have moved beyond moping over his personal (and, Hermann had assured him, short-term) loss, and not be too angry with him when he eventually returned. It simply would not do to have that kind of tension between them, really, as it would be counterproductive for both of their respective efficiencies. With all likelihood, Hermann would return to their joint barn-laboratory-hovel with a few choice samples in tow, Newton would promptly spread those samples out in the most effusive way possible, there would be the exchange of blunted verbal blows, and all would go back to exactly how it had been before he left. He entertained a brief thought that maybe, _maybe_ , it would even be a little bit better than before. Maybe Newton would maintain some sort of basic hygiene practice in his lab space whilst Hermann was gone. He was almost convinced on several occasions that Newton had only done some of the more outrageous ‘experiements’ on titan viscera as a means of expressly sending Hermann around the bend. It would honestly not have been surprising to him at all.

Hermann frowned. He truly was thinking far too much about Newton for the circumstances.  
_This is ridiculous,_ he thought to himself as they came into view of the temporary base. _Stop thinking about your bloody lab partner. It’s distracting you._

They passed another fresh human body, stopping briefly to reappropriate the fallen soldier’s unused blades for themselves, and he was reminded of exactly _why_ thinking about other things had been necessary. Better not to linger upon the way the green cape was still twitching feebly in the wind as the flies began to circle.

He redirected his thoughts instead to his cane, which, impractical as it may be in conjunction with his gear, was nonetheless missed dearly as he stumbled and fumbled his way to the base. _Even a horse would be better than this,_ he thought unhappily, but all of the horses had been led to the makeshift base themselves, so he was in absolutely no luck on that front either. They waded through golden-haired wheat, crops gone wild in the unattended fields, and Hermann felt the loose grains cling to the fabric of his trousers and wind their way between the fabric and his boots to prick uncomfortably against his skin.

How fabulous.

They began to pass soldiers with pulses soon enough, both the injured and the healthy, who motioned them onwards until they came to an open, flat area.

“Doctor Gottlieb,” Commander Pentecost’s voice rang out across the short space of field where they had set up a large table, already covered in old maps and new markings.

“Commander,” Hermann greeted him in return, nodding his head to the man and appreciating that Sasha had smoothly extricated herself from where she had been supporting him. He was quick to casually lean against the table, perusing the maps and lists and rough plans and contingencies spread out before him.

“Impressive as always, I hear,” Pentecost offered, a benign smile crossing his features briefly. Hermann felt his cheeks heat slightly, but otherwise remained unflappable. “We should have brought you back into the field sooner.” Hermann’s stomach lurched at the thought.

“I believe my abilities are more consistently valuable to the theoretical side of things these days, I’m afraid,” Hermann replied smoothly enough, and Pentecost gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

“Agreed, Doctor. Nonetheless, you are certainly not lacking in talent in either field.” Hermann couldn’t help but preen under the Commander’s praise. Sasha snorted somewhere behind him, and his cheeks heated slightly in sudden self-consciousness.

“I will be back shortly. Commander, Doctor,” she nodded to both of them before turning on her heel and striding away yet again. They watched her go momentarily, then Pentecost leant forward across the table, all business, and Hermann echoed his position.

“What is our current plan, commander?” Hermann asked, attempting to soak in all of the data spread out before him. They were the most detailed maps he had seen in a long time.  
“We are currently positioned here,” Pentecost said, pointing a sturdy finger to a place on the map in front of Hermann, “and our aim is to gather as much intelligence as we can.” Wall Rose stood resolutely nearby, the outwards bulge of Trost a welcome sight on the map. The vast space between their position and Wall Maria seemed endless on paper. But Hermann dealt in absolutes, or the closest he could possibly get to them. It was his job, after all.

“I am…. Well aware of our motivations for being in the field,” Hermann said quietly, his tone lacking any sort of indignation or accusation. He was simply focused upon the task at hand, a finger tapping on the table and eyes roving across the sketched landscape as he thought. Small pebbles were scattered across the map in a disorganised fashion, branching out from the point of Pentecost’s finger. He looked up at the Commander, squinting in the sunlight.

“These are scouting squads?” He asked, one hand sweeping a gesture over the pebbles.

“Yes,” Pentecost answered. “The thought was that, with the land being unattended and unseen for five years, there may be a wide scope for change and our maps may be outdated.”

Hm.

“No, that wouldn’t do,” Hermann agreed, tutting, “but there is no pattern to these, no efficiency. Those scouts will have a limited sense of the geography, give inaccurate reports. If you want to gauge the integrity of your information, you would need to use a grid system. But surely the priority should simply be to ensure that a stronghold, or a string of supplies, could be established for the longer campaign?”

“We were hoping that these initial scouting reports would help us in identifying an initial place for an outpost, however-”

“Perimeter breach!” a shout echoed and repeated through the ranks as a titan stumbled, full-sprint, out of a copse of trees a few hundred metres from their position. Hermann had his sword hilts in his hands before he recognized his own motions, lodging two blades into place with practiced certainty. His eyes scanned the landscape quickly, establishing potentials for maneuvering, muscles jumping beneath his skin in preparation for a quick leap and the whiplash pull of a grappling cable if necessary. He returned his focus immediately to the threat at hand, time moving in a strange fast-slow crawl of adrenalin. Two or three soldiers were launching themselves immediately behind the titan, trying to keep pace with the creature as it streaked, clumsily but all too unsettlingly fast, towards them across the open ground.

“Here,” Sasha said, appearing once again at Hermann’s shoulder where he was bracing himself for the attack, drawing his thoughts away from the potential need to protect his commander with his life.

“More blades.”

She had restocked her own sheaths whilst he was busy with Pentecost, and now as she slid two fresh blades into each of his hilts without pomp or circumstance, he was struck with an all new wave of gratitude for such a highly competent and deadly soldier to be standing at his side. She was with him.

Hermann’s veins thrummed beneath his skin, entire body coiled and tensed in face of the creature as its unsteady feet pounded ever closer and then-

straight past them.

Hermann felt the air rush over him as it moved and he spun, following the titan’s haphazard path as it completely ignored them, running clear through their ranks without so much as a cursory swipe at a soldier and onwards. There was a moment of silence, suspended in the air by collective disbelief. The surreal sound of cicadas filled the air around them.

“… What… In… God’s…” Hermann murmured, brow furrowed in bewilderment. Hermann was no expert in titan behaviour, oh no, he left that to his colleague as much as was humanly possible, but his long career in the survey corps had allowed him ample time to learn one thing; when faced with the opportunity, titans will always consume humans.

No hesitation, no consideration.

Hermann reeled as the creature’s form shrunk rapidly into the distance. As it careered across the landscape, his mind leaped wildly for explanations, pulling out every which way whilst every moment the creature carried itself steadily onwards, straight towards the walls of-

Trost.

The blades in Hermann’s hands hung limply against the ground as all at once his thoughts coalesced, and he stared at the horror unfolding before his eyes.

A dark column of smoke was striking its way into the sky from the city, and the gradual rise of screaming from the people around him let Hermann know that they too had spotted it.

 _The city is falling,_ it occurred to Hermann through the eerie grey that was settling around his line of vision, _and none of those capable of protecting it are there_. He felt a strange cold seeping into his chest at the thought, his lungs forgetting momentarily how to breathe.

“Commander,” he said, his voice quiet in his own ears. The commander’s eyes were white, his face grim.

“Sergeant Kaidanovsky, you make sure to coordinate every scouting group back towards the city as quickly as you can,” the commander’s voice carried a weight with it that brought his feet back into his boots.

“Everybody else,” the commander called, “return to Trost _immediately_.”

There was chaos as wagons were frantically hitched to horses and soldiers scrambled for their mounts. Hermann turned to assist in retrieving the maps and data on the table, fingers moving numbly and mind following his commander’s orders for fear of what he would do if he didn’t. Pale faces flashed behind the backs of his eyes and phantom smoke clung to the inside of his nostrils and he had to _fight_ that, he had to exist right _now_ -

A firm hand upon his forearm jerked Hermann from his shocked reverie like a man surfacing from deep underwater, and the Commander stared him dead in the eye.

“Go, Doctor,” the commander ordered.

“But commander-”

“No, Doctor,” He shook his head. “Leave. Go back. Find Geiszler. Get everyone out.”

Hermann’s ears rang at the sound of his lab partner’s name. Whilst the numbness had been unwelcome, the sudden inexplicable feeling that the world had lost its balance beneath his feet was utterly intolerable and he fought the urge to be ill. Instead, he nodded dumbly, and staggered his way towards the nearest horse. He didn’t even feel the twinge in his leg as he swung himself up onto its back deftly, whipping the horse into the fastest gallop he could muster from it. His hair flying, his heart thumping in his throat, and his teeth bared as he streaked across the landscape, there was only one thought that flooded his head.

_Newton._

**Author's Note:**

> Come and yell at me/tell me to draw things/hassle me to update my other fics over on tumblr, that's where I spend the other 80% of my life. - indefinitelyindia.tumblr.com


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